Collar
by NO ONE MUST KNOW
Summary: My first Trigun fic! n.n! This probably isn't the best way to make my mark...it involves a m/m slash couple I don't like and think some may find gross...oh, well! n.n! Now, I warned you this was slash! And see if you can guess the couple!


Collar

By Wolfy

I know you're waiting for me. I can hear you on the other side of the door…I can hear you breathing, so softly; I can hear the beating of your heart. But, the sound I prize most; your startled gasp as I let myself in and close the door behind me.

I can see you, standing still and alert in a shroud of darkness, so beautiful in your fear. I could reach out and touch you, but you're expecting that, aren't you? Of course you are… you expect everything, every hour of the day…what kind of fighter would you be if you didn't? I prefer to never expect anything…but that's the kind of man I am…

Unfortunately, that game is cut short. As much as I would love to use the element of surprise to my advantage, I've never been a patient man. I reach for you, take hold of your arm and pull you against me, looking down at you. You stare up at me, confused and angry, though you know what it is I want. You are my whore, you are my property; and you know it. You know it and you hate that fact, you hate the power I have over you. And you'll do anything to sever that hold I have.

But not right now, you won't. Now, you are mine, and I own you.

You don't resist me. You've learned by now to resist me only makes me angry…and without your damned sword, you're as helpless as a kitten. You hardly react, perfectly still in my arms, letting me have my way, which is how I like it. It took me a long time to get you this compliant, but I have yet to tame you this way on the battlefield. You're my pet, you are, off the front line; but the moment blood is shed or weapons are drawn your mind is not your own; you think like a beast hungry for flesh and blood and you attack, at first so calm, then so deadly.

But I have managed to tame the tsunami, hold it in my arms and touch it, soothe its ferocity. When this first began, you would cry out and claw at me in a desperate attempt to escape me, to escape the pain I inflict on you.

I push your robe open, study the marred skin, scarred from months of abuse at my hand. You say something, your voice weak and dismal, but you know your words don't matter to me. They never have. All I want to hear is my name on your tongue, though I, too, have learned something in our months of shared corruption.

You never cry my name.

The thought feeds my anger, and I rip at the flimsy cloth barriers that stand between my touch and your skin. I rake my claws across your abdomen, down your side, tear at your skin, revel in your soft whimper of pain.

I slowly drop to my knees, sliding my hands to land on your hips. Even through the leather mask I can smell your blood, sweat and fear; sweeter than wine and more addictive than any drug. I impatiently reach back and unfasten my mask, let it fall to the floor and I lick the wounds I have given you, drag my tongue over each crimson furrow. I am intoxicated by the taste of your blood, so vividly red, miniature rivers running down your body.

I can hear you whispering, and I pause to listen, for once. But I then turn in disinterest when I find you are speaking so feverishly in a language I don't understand. Probably the same written on those damned cards of yours.

To me, this is foreplay, though I know it is torture to you. It doesn't matter, however, this has never been about _your_ pleasure.

When I stand, you glance at me, briefly, pausing in your foreign whispers. I rarely remove my mask for you, or anyone, for that matter. But you don't dwell on it…you've always been bright. You turn your eyes away, and I touch your chin, but don't turn you to face me. I back you towards the bed and lower you to the mattress, so carefully, press my lips to your throat. Your hands light on my shoulders, and I close my mouth over yours before you can tell me to stop, like you always do.

It doesn't take long. I am more impatient than usual, you notice it, and I know it scares you. I love knowing I can frighten you so easily when we're here, in the darkness, surrounded by the thickness of night, just you and I. You're untouchable when you fight, you can't be scared, but you will be, eventually. And I hope to whatever God cares to listen to me that I get to see when you're afraid on the field of battle.

My helpless little pet.

I kiss your collarbone as I lift your legs around my waist, my fingertips wandering along your thighs. You turn your head to the side, refusing, as always, to look at me. I don't care, really, but I let you believe you're defying me. That has always kept you sane, if you think you can cling to one last strip of your dignity and self-respect if you believe you're denying me at least one pleasure. I could tell you I don't care, but I won't shatter that illusion.

I enter you, take you, claim you for the umpteenth time. You don't respond apart from the tears gathering in your closed eyes. I can see them glittering beneath your lashes, and oh, how stupid you can be; you think you deprive me by disallowing me your gaze, but really, I gain more pleasure from your tears than anything.

I bite your neck, gently. Can't leave any marks where they'll be seen…I won't humiliate you like that. I won't exhibit my victory, you are mine and mine alone. I ensnared you, dragged you to my web, and I'm going to keep you, whether you like it or not. You can kill me, you can cripple me, but it won't matter. I have you, I've claimed you as mine, and it doesn't matter how many partners you might have in future years or how many times you try and wash away my scent and my touches. You're mine, forever. If I'm going to burn in Hell, by God, you're burning with me.

Sometimes I wish you could see into my mind, see what I think of you and all the interesting things I want to do to you. You aren't my lover, more my victim, my prey, I your captor, your ravisher.

My pleasure is finished with a shudder, and you finally cry out in dismay, such an enticing sound, it makes me want to rip into your throat and find the source of that seductive noise. I instead collapse, my breathing ragged in your ear, my clawed fingers wandering down your body. You hate me, I know. I _know._ You're telling me now, your voice almost a sob. You repeat it, over and over and over, so desperate and so fervent.

I let you weep. I let you cry and mourn for yourself, for your shattered honor. I would rather you be quiet and save the tears for later, since it won't feed my passion any, now that it's been spent. But I pity you and allow you this.

I move off of you to beside you, caress your cheek once before I close my eyes and relax. I know it's risky to sleep here with you, you could reach for your sword and kill me, but you won't. You're a more honorable man than that. If you did ever kill me…I don't doubt you will, one day…it would have to be in a fight.

You cry for perhaps an hour, quietly, your anger dimming. Now, you're hardly more then a weary shell, empty and silent, your breathing hitching now and again. I would sleep with you in my arms, you wouldn't resist me, but in all honesty, I know you would derive slight comfort from the gesture, which is why I don't do it. You're not a woman. You don't need to be treated like one.

I fall asleep eventually, but it seems only for a moment, because when I next open my eyes, it's dawn. I don't want to get up, either, because now you and I have to make our way to Augusta to fight some stupid outlaw who's going to end up killing us anyway. Mind you, he's such a coward, he probably won't.

I can hear you moving around the room, so quietly. You don't know I'm awake yet, do you? I glimpse you out of the corner of my eye, fully dressed, your long brown hair loose down your back. I sit up, and you don't look at me, telling me softly I should get ready to leave. I agree, and mutter as I stand up, dressing and pulling on my mask. You don't want to look at me, but you do; you look at me with those prettily aggrieved eyes. I pull my mask back and kiss you before I leave, not bothering to close the door or look back at you. I know you're watching me go, another little ritual of yours. The first time, it bothered me, though now I don't care. Do what you want when my back is turned. But when I face you, you remember that I own you. I think you know my desire to put a collar on you and openly declare you mine.

But as long as you know it, Blade, we won't have to go that far, will we?

.end.


End file.
